


This is the End

by AmyPond45



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Gen, Meta, Season 9, Season 9 Finale AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 10:55:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1646129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyPond45/pseuds/AmyPond45
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dreams can be very, very disturbing, even when we know they're not real. And Dean's dreams are not pretty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is the End

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up in the middle of the night with this bloodbath in my head and I just really, really needed to write it. I guess I'm way to upset about the season finale and it hasn't even happened yet! Be warned -- this is disturbing (to me at least!)

"No! Sam, no!"

Dean woke in a cold sweat, the dream -- nightmare -- still clinging to the edges of his consciousness.

He was panting, breathing hard like he'd just been running, adrenaline shooting through his veins like liquid fire.

Images -- vivid and unrelenting -- filled his mind like a movie looping over and over on the same scene. The final scene. A death scene -- a bloodbath.

Dean gasped, ran a hand over his face, desperate to clear his head but unable to escape the pictures playing in it.

And the voice -- Sam's voice, speaking Lucifer's words -- "Whatever you do, you will end up here."

No escape. Dean's destiny. The price Cain talked about when he gave him the Mark.

Dean flung the covers back on the bed and charged into the bathroom, turned on the sink so he could cup cold water into his hands, splash his face with it as if he could wash away the feeling of dread and claustrophobia, the relentlessness of the dream's message. As he stared at himself in the mirror he forced himself to replay the final scene -- tried to pull from it some sense of control over the fear, the sheer terror.

Castiel was dead, burned out as he had said he would be in the not-so-distant future because of his borrowed grace. Dean saw the angel in his mind's eye, lying prone on the floor of some empty, barren warehouse somewhere, his wings burned into the floor beneath him, his blue eyes at half-mast, dead.

Then Dean saw himself go beserk, rage burning away any semblence of sanity as he flew into a white-hot blaze of rage, killing dozens of angels, leaving everything and everyone in his path dead, dead, dead in his vengeful hunt for Metatron.

And the final showdown -- confronting the bastard finally outside in the dark somewhere, puny little pissant angel who caused all this destruction -- all his fault, all his fault -- Dean had become a perfect killing machine, dead set on one final death (or so he told himself) and now he had the little germ-wad cornered, staring with wide, terrified eyes as the King of the Damned bore down on him --

Then Sam was there, between Dean and Metatron, trying to talk him down. Trying to interfere. Telling him to stop.

"Get out of the way, Sam," Dean growled menacingly, which is when Metatron made his move, stabbed Sam in the back -- and everything exploded in Dean's brain, nothing worked any more and nothing made sense because Sam was --

In the final scene, Metatron was dead -- obviously stabbed and beaten furiously with the Blade, deader than dead really, although Dean couldn't remember doing it. All he knew was that he was kneeling in the rain, holding his brother's dead body in his arms and sobbing -- and it was 2007 all over again only this time it was his fault -- it was because Dean couldn't control the Mark. And it was 2010 again and Lucifer had just ridden Sam into Hell and Dean was alone because he hadn't been strong enough to say yes to Michael. And it was 2013 again -- and he was holding his brother's body as the angels fell and he hadn't been able to stop Sam in time and the trials had killed him. And it was 1983 and his mother had just burned alive on the ceiling of Sam's nursery. And it was 2005 and his dad had just died giving his soul for Dean.

Alone. Dean was alone. Finally, and completely, in 2014. Just as Lucifer had said.

* *

"Dean?" Sam was standing in the bathroom doorway, sleep-mussed and squinting in the light, concern etched into the angles of his handsome features.

"You okay?" Sam rubbed a hand over his face, then through his hair, blinking in the light.

And Dean was flooded with intense relief, so that he had to clutch the sink to keep from falling to his knees.

He knew the look he turned on his brother was open and raw, and Dean couldn't seem to make his throat work to answer, because suddenly Sam was just there, pulling him in for a hug, somehow understanding with just a glimpse at the sheer agony on Dean's face.

"Nightmare?" Sam murmured as he dug his chin into Dean's shoulder.

Dean nodded, mostly because he still couldn't speak, needed all his energy just to stay upright and prevent the waterworks threatening at the back of his eyes.

And this was warm and familiar -- they both had nightmares of Hell, of the horrible things that had happened to them on Earth, of all the people they had lost. And it was normal for them to comfort each other when a particularly bad one hit in the middle of the night this way.

So Dean pressed his face into Sam's neck, breathing in the spicy, sleep-warmed scent of Sam's skin, letting the hug go on a little longer than normal so he could reclaim the feel of Sam's long arms around him, of Sam's big, broad back under his hands, his muscled chest pressed against Dean's.

If he could, Dean would hold Sam forever this way, safe and alive and loved.

And Sam let himself be held, understanding that Dean needed the contact, the closeness and intimacy of Sam's physical presence in his arms, just to keep his inner demons at bay, just to reassure himself that the dream was just a dream.

And that this -- this -- this was real.


End file.
